Infinitus
by Bearye
Summary: A bunch of crossovers, one-shots, and anything that may strike my muse.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** What you are about to read is basically a bunch of headcanons, snippets, oneshots, crossovers and many other things. That being said, I hereby **disclaim** any ownership of any fandom I will write in, and state that all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners and no copyright infringement is intended.

**AN#2: **I am writing for the sake of writing and my amusement, I don't write according to _your_ wants or requirements and if you happen to find anything not to your taste, you are more than welcome to hit the back button, and any attempt at flaming will be ignored. Lastly, all chapters will be self-beta'd, so expect the usual amount of typos.

Well then, enjoy.

* * *

**Beginnings **

* * *

When death came, Harry Potter was unprepared.

It was too early, too sudden and without a moment's notice. But what was more worse is the feeling of hopelessness that washed over him as his wife's voice still rang in his ears, pleading with him to remain alive.

He thought that death will come when he was old and lived a fulfilling life, surrounded by his beloved people, assuring them that he was merely going to the next adventure.

He thought that if he died earlier, it would be in a heroic battle. Taking down his enemies with him.

But fate was never kind to him.

And so he died a week after holding his firstborn, little James whom he will never see take his first steps, utter his first words, or experience his bouts of accidental magic.

He died after being struck with a Bombarda. A common blasting curse he used when exploding chairs with the Weasleys. And it was ironic how Avada Kedavra could not kill him and keep him died, but a mere well casted Bombarda could.

Even more ironic is that his killer was some rouge wizard. Certainly none important. Maybe he should have stayed home that day, not obeying his restlessness and strolling around Diagon Alley.

But he died. And he didn't greet death like an old friend.

"Return me", He demanded as soon as darkness fell around him. Whereas he had expected Kings Cross station.

"That cannot be done" a deep voice answered him, while the image of the most terrifying being appeared.

"I owned the deathly Hallows!" Harry cried, useless things, horrible things that he scattered around his world, but he owned them once. Why not return when he had already done so before?

"Being the master of death doesn't permit you to return whenever you die. The first time you died, Harry Potter, you were given the choice, but no more."

Despair filled him, and he let his head fall down on his hands.

"But.." Death said slowly, and he raised his head and looked at them hopefully, "There is one method should you wish to return to this life."

"Anything!" Harry breathed.

"You must live other lives. Continue the eternal circle, until you reach this life again." Death decreed.

Other lives? Countless of possibilities and chances, endless cycle that begins but never truly ends.

"How many?" Harry asked slowly, dread beginning to fill him, "How many until I can return here?"

Death hummed, "Many years. Centuries. Millenniums. Time never matters. You will live hundreds of lives. Meet hundreds of people. Forget countless things. For despite being my master, you are still human, Harry Potter, and you will have the disadvantage of humans that is forgetfulness. Sometimes you will think it a blessing,

Other times a curse. But you will continue on and on and on.."

Maybe death back then was being merciful, trying to dissuade him from the pain that will come. But he was foolish then, hard headed and believing that he could overcome whatever may come, will live thousands of lives and still be able to remember his first resolve. And so he accepted the deal. Even when death's fathomless eyes gazed at him with pity.

"So shall it be."

.

.

* * *

**II**

* * *

When death came later, Harry Potter was still unprepared.

In his first (or is it second?) life, he was reborn. Awareness hit him like a train when he was four, causing him to drop the pan he was holding for his aunt.

And wasn't it such a warm welcome to hear Aunt Petunia's shrill voice scolding his little four years self for being a clumsy little freak, and how many four years old kids can sit still while holding a hot pan for their aunties? Surely not Dudley Duddykins.

Somehow, he managed to live his first life until the very end. Where he got his wish by having a stable family, with three precious little (but no more) demons. And then he died. But when he arrived before death once again he was bitter, that life was as if it is from a distant dream he could not remember.

His third, fourth and fifth lives were blurry, once he was abandoned by the Dursleys to live in an orphanage, and it was definitely better than living with them. Once Neville was the boy who lived, and he got to be 'just Harry'. Once he died from his cousin's carelessness, when he pushed him into a speeding car and the little bugger was merely eight years old. He hoped that Dudley never forgot killing his poor cousin, but he supposed that was impossible with Dursleys as a family.

One thing he lamented was the lack of his parents. His first lives were similar his first one. Except for the fore knowledge he had when awareness came, and the dying part.

And then it began to change. He wasn't reborn in his sixth life. He was transported. One moment he was trying to tidy his bird-nest hair for Neville and Hannah's wedding, and the next he was blinking at a Malfoy-looking bloke holding his wand under his nose.

In his eighth life his parents lived and he had siblings, that life was so bittersweet.

In his tenth life he was so fed up with Britain, and so he packed his bags and left to explore the world.

His thirteenth life was unlike any previous ones because he got to be a cat. A goddamin cat.

In his fifteenth he was born a squib. And that made him realize how fortunate he was later in other lives.

He bailed out of his twenty life because no matter how mad he was he would never accept Snape as his father, even if he didn't have a greasy hair.

His twenty four life was interesting because he was reborn as a she.

The twenty sixth life was the first time he had a lover other than Ginny or his loyal hand. And it was Blaise Zabini. He didn't expect that to happen but it did.

He went batshit insane in his thirty five life. He couldn't recall the reason but maybe it was something minor like having Voldemort for a brother, but he got used to bizarre things like that later on. Thankfully death kicked his ass to the void and told him to 'solve his issues'.

In his thirty sixth life he somehow managed to be a painting in Grimmauld Place. He made do in trying to out-scream Walburga Black. He cannot remember how that life ended. Maybe the residents finally got fed up with him and burned him down alongside Mrs. Black.

It was the thirty seventh that was the defining life for him. He made a promise to live not for a reason. But simply carry on and enjoy the ride.

He was glad he did because death began to toss him in different dimensions. They didn't care if it was inhabitable or not, it seemed that they were not listening to his whinnying anymore.

He could safely say that death was his oldest companion. One that knew his dirty laundry. _Correction, laundries._

It was around his seventy something that he had the great idea to create a persona for every life that will come. It was fun. And it helped his poor memory. Once he had to be the odd muggle uncle. The crazy seer. And a dark lord, because his morals somehow went downhill that time.

But he could clearly remember some of his lives. If not for the _difference_ in the worlds, then for the people that he met and loved, hated with passion. And maybe killed.

.

* * *

**III**

* * *

"I want to remain here. For a few years." Harry added the last part because death began to get more paler than their usual pale.

But really, he enjoyed staying here. There were a lot of things that he still didn't try and a lot of people who he hadn't met. Like that crazy immortality seeking pedophile. What was his name anyway? Orio something.

"You have used whatever small chances you had for lives, Harry Potter, you shouldn't even be able to do that the first times. You die _when you're meant to die. _You will be unable to return to the same life. But we granted you a few chances because you were a miserable excuse for a death's master." Death said in a flat voice.

"I know, I know! But please, this is the last time!" Pleaded Harry even if he knew perfectly well that it's not going to be the last time.

"I need a vacation." Death said solemnly.

"You can't have a vacation!" Harry said in indignation, "Besides, think of what's gonna happen if death decides to take a vacation! Err.. Over load in life thingies?"

Death replied in annoyance,"I have been working since The Creation, I believe I am more than deserving of a day off."

"Okaay.." Said Harry slowly, while eyeing death's twitching fingers nervously," Who's gonna take on your work? A junior death? Underclassman? Do you even have those? What about me staying here?"

Death looked at him as if he was a blithering idiot,"No. You are capable of doing that. You made that mess, you're going to clean it. Then you'll be allowed to return here in this precise moment."

They slapped a black colored book across his face, and made a dramatic exit from a door that suddenly appeared behind them.

"Git," muttered Harry, while examining the book in his hands. He opened it and saw a creepy looking writing, 'How to do Death's Deathly Duties' was scrawled across the first paper.

The next page was filled with instructions, and they began with:

1\. Be Death.

2\. _**Don't**_ fuck up with _Life_. They're older than you.

3\. Tree of lives saves a lot of trouble in collecting dying souls. Plucking the leaves of those who piss you off is unwise.

4\. Be in the right place, at the right time in every fucking second across the worlds. Don't worry, you won't split. Unless you have a weak stomach.

5\. If you're Harry Potter, stay low and don't push your luck. Lady Fate is willing to give you Days of Grace until We return."

6\. _**Do not. Search. For. Us.**_

7\. This is the last time we'll grant you a wish. We swear it.

"Well, it looks like death can get pissed." Harry said thoughtfully.

He put the book in his pocket, while humming tunelessly as he left the void they were in, he got duties to do now.

.

.

* * *

**IV**

* * *

Harry Potter thought that he got used to the repeated cycle of lives. But sometimes, in rare moments when the final consequences of his idiocy danced on the edge-_buried deep deep down don't think of it_\- of his mind, despair would fill him. Followed by hollowness so unfamiliar despite knowing it exists.

No matter how many ones he bared his soul to, they all depart. They all _forget_. No one truly remembers who he -_was- _is, none sees _him_, they simply see what they think they're seeing. Only them, those damned death _know him, see him, recall who he was_. Only death. His blessing, his curse.

.

.

Once, he asked death a question he repeatedly asked them in his first lives, 'when will the cycle end?'

In the beginning death ignored him, opting to give him vague answers, obviously not that interested in humoring the lowly ignorant human. But later, when he stopped counting his years, when he ceased thinking himself a human, death answered him.

"_Your_ cycle will end after a week."

Hold your horses, sit back in your chairs, he began this freakin cycle since _forever, _of course he will be done sooner than expected.

You see, the eternal cycle of life is exactly what it means, _eternal_. The original one that is.

But, the _current_ cycle that he's spending at almost a snail's pace, is simply a borrowed time from the original one. The primary one was granted to the beings that used to occupy this world. _Or still occupy it, he never got to see them, damned slippery creatures._ The borrowed time was granted to the humans since The Creation.

Now, when death gave him a certain book ages ago -_ he still has it_\- there was a brief mention of how heavenly beings count years_._

The heavenly _days_ are older than your human _years_. In the first millenniums since creation of earth, humans aged between one thousand to ten thousands. They were almost able to follow the heavenly days. Then it began to gradually fall until humanity barely achieved one hundred years. Thus no longer able to follow them, incapable of even thinking above a certain amount of calculation.

One heavenly _day_ equals 50.000 human years.

So when death said a week. They meant a _heavenly week_. Like, 350.000 human years. Yay.

But Harry got something out from that rubbish, and it was the answer to one of humanity oldest questions, 'When does the world end?'

By his estimation, and he was not that great at mathematics, it would take _one _heavenly month_*_ for the world to end. He honestly expected it to end sooner, with how humans -mundane or magical- seem so keen on wiping each other off the face of earth.

.

.

* * *

* If anyone is interested, it's 1.500.000 years.

I'd love to have Harry roam the worlds forever, but the idea of a final life is more interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** Timetravel.

**Fandom:** Harry Potter.

* * *

_A Marauder Tomes_

* * *

A soft chime rang as he pushed the door, the scent of aged parchments tickled his nose as he gazed at the wide hall, and he briefly wondered how this place managed to remain _almost_ hidden from the residents of Hogsmeade for decades.

His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor and his eyes drank the sight of various books, scrolls and tomes.

"Good evening, young man." A soft-spoken yet firm voice greeted him, and he spun quickly, berating himself for not noticing the presence behind him. A tall, smartly dressed wizard stood before him, his long inky-black hair pulled in high ponytail and hooded emerald eyes looked back at him. The wizard's hands were clasped behind his straight back.

Tom had met many beautiful witches and wizards, and the occasional muggles, but he couldn't help but remaining immobile whilst gazing at the man. The man coughed, his jeweled eyes flashed briefly in an unnamed emotion.

Blood rushed to his face, and he quickly averted his eyes and straitened his posture, and greeted the man back with a calmness he didn't feel. The man smiled, and said smoothly, "Welcome to my humble library, young wizard. Are you here for a specific corner or for a bit of browsing?"

Tom answered cooly; "No, I wish to visit Lord Grim's section." The man, and Tom speculated his age to be from late twenties to early thirties, raised an elegant brow, then jerked his head forward while turning smoothly, "Follow me."

The library hall was divided in four sections, from what he could see, in each section there was a grand statue with a plaque beneath it. They passed by an ancient looking man, clothed in medieval wizarding robes, with a staff firmly grasped in his wizened hand. _Warlock Brian_ was engraved in the plaque. Tom saw many old and tattered, ancient and half faded books and tomes, the place was, simply put, ancient and powerful. He nodded in understanding, this is the grey and light magic section.

The next statue was of a red-headed woman, draped in a flowing modest gown, her plump fingers caressing a single knitting thread, while the rest pooled around the chair she sat on, her plaque stated that she was_ Matriarch Molina_.

The aura of that section was warm, soothing and welcoming, with an edge of power hovering slightly over it. This must have been the home-care section, the half-blood witches in his house sang praises of it.

The other statue they've passed was that of a twins with amused smiles, their wands held loosely in their hands. The atmosphere of this section was friendly, slightly playful and full of mischief. Pranks and whatnot, He recalled that the Gryffindor Charles Potter was addicted to the _Twin Foxes_ section, if Dorea Black is to be believed.

But what he was really looking for was the last statue, a dark haired man, dressed in traditional pureblood fashion, with long dark cloak half covering a grim that stood menacingly beside him. _Lord Grim, _was written on his plaque. A dark, seductive aura surrounded it, and he was slightly dazed and breathless as his eyes shifted between the bookshelves holding all kinds of dark magic books. He saw an aged copy of _Magick Moste Evile, _next to it was a book he saw once in Hogwarts's library Restricted Section,_Secrets of the Darkest Art._

The man made an impatient sound and Tom startled, annoyance crept in him for forgetting the man's presence, he turned to look at the library's owner, and he was met with a faint frown before the expression was wiped clean. The man rattled off a few instructions that were clearly repeated many times. "Don't touch any book without warding yourself, avoid opening cursed books without supervision, copying spells do not work in this section, rituals involving the need for human body-parts are off-limit for wizards below seventeen..." And so on until he finished with "I'll be in the back room if you ever needed assistance."

With that, he promptly turned and left, leaving Tom staring gleefully at the hundreds of books before him, it was pity that none could buy anything from this library, and the last one that tried to steal a book from it was met with a terrible accident that left him a squib, but he will make do with his memory.

* * *

Pre-slash? Gen? Morally grey HP?

Whatever, the bunny committed suicide and I just wrote down its will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning**: Canon divergence.

**Fandom(s):** Code Geass/Harry Potter.

* * *

_Shell_

* * *

In 1984 a.t.b , Harold si Britannia is born to Prince Charles zi Britannia and Princess Lillian si Britannia.

Harold was the firstborn to the _now_ Britannian emperor, and -_ in later years _\- the least interested of all his children in the battle for the throne.

Princess Lillian remained to hold her child in her arms, then passed away due to her frail health worsened by his birth. Thus the responsibility of the first prince fell on the shoulders of the late Princess's lady-in-waiting, Nina Standstill.

Over the years, Lady Nina noticed that the first royal prince was a quiet, peaceful and a keen minded person. He didn't have the urge to please his father or the previous Emperor of Britannia like his other siblings and neither did he try to establish himself in the Royal household. He never sought to his half siblings for petty fights nor did he attend every ball thrown by the nobles, he was almost never seen except in the most formal and mandatory gatherings ordered by the Emperor.

In 1998 a.t.b, the previous emperor of Britannia was overthrown, and Charles zi Britannia became emperor and married Empress Marianne vi Britannia.

As soon as the royal prince passed his 14th birthday in that year, he was summoned to the throne to stand before his Royal father and almost all of the Britannian nobility. It was there he abdicated his right to the throne in favor of his half brother Prince Odysseus eu Britannia.

All was shocked and in disbelief of his action, though the Emperor granted him his request, stripping him of all his titles except his right as a Prince for his bravery - _or foolishness_ \- to ask such a thing, the Emperor would say so later in amusement to his first Knight.

The line of si Britannia was livid and mortified that their own card in the imperial family was crushed, and withdrew their support for the first - _in name only now_ \- prince. Though Lady Nina saw that prince Harold was never bothered by the fact that his mother's family abandoned him, and somehow managed to get a nice villa in the farthest land from the Palace, and lived in a peaceful environment away from the bloodthirsty and backstabbing blue bloods in the motherland.

Although the prince now doesn't hold any political seat and in no need for noble support, he never turned any sibling that came upon his door, he was noted for being the middle - _neutral - _ground between all his half siblings, to the ire of most nobles.

* * *

Schneizel never knew what to make of his oldest brother, Harold.

He was the enigma in the whole imperial family. He was never a mediocre prince like Odysseus, an ambitious one like him nor a narcissist like Clovis and he was definitely not bloodthirsty like Cornelia.

He was always calm and provided interesting subjects to discuss whenever he came uninvited to his half brother's villa, and there was never a dull moment with him, even when they sat in silence and gazed at the glistening stars in heaven, it was always a relieving moment from the stifling atmosphere of the royal court.

Harold was the only one who managed to best him in chess, a fact that always bothered him, and he was almost thankful for his half brother's lack of interest in the throne, for he would have been a very formidable opponent to fight.

.

.

V. V. knew from the moment his gaze fell on his nephew, Harold si Britannia, that he was not to be trifled with. His twinkling emeralds eyes only hid the predatory knowing gaze lurking beneath, and his Geass code always tingled whenever that gaze was directed at him.

_Come closer, _the voices crooned, images of what may and what could be flashing before him, and dread filled him as darkness snarled at him; _thief, abomination, damned._

The emblem of blood keeps chasing him in his nightmares, and he always fled a mere moments from standing before that abnormality.

When he grew too jealous of Marianne and decided to assassinate her, his actions were met with a dark smile and a threat; "I never liked Empress Marianne, dear Uncle. But I am quite fond of her children."

He was certain that Nunnally vi Britannia was now a useless member of the vi line, and was alarmed when the doctors he specifically chosen for her announced that a miracle occurred and the young princess regained her sight, though her legs could not be saved. He expected no miracles to happen under those conditions, and a shudder went through him when Harold came unannounced to take care of his half siblings, the unforgiving gaze he was unable to meet had him abandoning the idea of completing his crusade against Marianne's children, and leaving to hide in the Geass Directorate.

.

.

Lelouch vi Britannia marched to the Emperor and _accused_ him of abandoning his mother to her death, and went on to renounce his entitlement to the throne.

The Emperor was not amused, and Lelouch's fate was almost sealed when the court's doors opened and a herald announced the arrival of Prince Harold si Britannia.

The prince beseeched the Emperor to forgive the eleventh Prince's foolishness, ill-considered actions due to grief, he reasoned, and asked the Emperor to give him the guardianship of the two children of Empress Marianne.

To the bafflement of all, the Emperor forgave the young prince, and granted Prince Harold his request.

Soft spot for the firstborn, they thought. Or maybe a boon for the least troublesome of the imperial offsprings, they reasoned.

.

.

Contrary to his twin brother may think, Charles zi Britannia knew what occurred at the night Marianne was assassinated.

He planned to banish the two children of Marianne away from the sight of V.V., but then his strange firstborn gave him another alternative option. Charles knows that V.V. is_terrified_ of Harold, although C.C. is also wary of Harold, it was not to the extent of his older brother.

Thus he was confident that his brother would be unable to reach his children if they were in the care of his firstborn.

To this day, Charles never figured out why does the two Geass givers fear Harold, even when he _does_ have some apprehension of him, an unknown piece in the world's chess game, aloof and avoided from the flow of fate.

* * *

Harold, Harry, Henry or Harvey and other meaningless names he never cared for was amused.

Geass, a bastardized attempt at playing the game of immortality. These mortals never got tired of trying to be something they will never be.

Destroying the gods? Reuniting all humans? He laughed hard at hearing that rubbish uttered by his current shell's parent, and decided to take no actions against the play happening right in front of him, he merely donned his mortal mask and thought that this realm was far too interesting to pass on early.

He will see it to the _very end_.

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning:** SI-OC insert.

**Fandom:** Harry Potter.

* * *

_Once Upon a Lifetime_

* * *

Hafna was proud to say that she experienced the unexpected, and came to _expect_ it.

No really, she did.

After all, now she knows that there is nothing to be afraid of, if you got injured you can be healed. If you got betrayed you could have your revenge, and if by some mistake you went off and kicked the bucket, surprise! _You can get reborn_!

So Hafna had no reason to be paranoid, she has no reason to jump when her crazy uncle blew something up _once again_ back in the kitchen, but now she definitely has reason to be, as her nimble fingers almost crushed the fine letter in her hands, because it is a horrible joke and it's not even April Fools.

Right, she died, once upon a previous lifetime and why is there's a Hogwarts crest on this damn letter? It's nineteen ninety-one and names like Harry Potter and JK Rowling are still very much unknown.

She needs to sit down, and she did.

The address* was precise and head on that if it was a miraculous prank it would be the work of a shameless stalker.

_Ms H. Barrett_

_The Second Room_

_129 Old Church St._

_Chelsea, London_

Her fingers trembled as they hesitantly opened the letter, and words she memorized from her past life appeared before her eyes on the first page.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Barrett_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Right. Okay. Now, If Hafna was the girl she was once, she'd have screamed in excitement, danced to the moon and back and kissed the ground in thanks. But now, she felt a horrible headache coming, this life was _supposed to be stress-free._

She had the option of declining, she remembers hazy details on how some people refused to allow their children entry into Hogwarts, but then she must be a muggleborn in this life, right? She never knew her new (?) parents due to some unfortunate accident, and maybe one of them was a squib or something, or maybe her delusional uncle was a wizard in hiding, but without proof she was as good as a green muggleborn.

She recalls that they require special treatments, such as a certain professor visiting their homes to confirm some details. As in, no, that was no inappropriate joke, and your daughter-niece-sister-something is a witch.

No way out.

No, really, her dear uncle would rather offer her _unworthy_ soul to his gods than decline her entry to _a world of magic._

Now, she just needs a pen and paper to lay down facts about a certain novel series-turned-reality thing. If she is going to be shipped off to the not so unknown, she wants to be _prepared._

* * *

**AN:** Just to clarify, Hafna is not the one in_ 'hafna liba ttir_', but as in Hafna in Arabic, which means 'handful'.

I plan to pick this up someday and continue it, but for now I'm just laying down ideas.

* Correct me if its wrong.

\+ This bunny was revived and two chapters were written, check them out if interested.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: **FemHarry.

**Fandom(s): **Naruto/Harry Potter.

* * *

_The Hokage's Secretary_

* * *

When Kakashi returned from his long term (third non-ANBU related, he was noticing a pattern, what was the Sandaime planning?) mission, he found a new secretary behind a neat desk near the Hokage's office.

His eyes firstly glimpsed the long, pale and unblemished legs crossed under the wooden desk, the lucky bearer of the heavenly legs wore a black, knee length skirt and low heel pumps, he dragged his eyes reluctantly from the bared wonders and was met by a startling, vibrant green eyes set in a professionally blank face.

He sheepishly waved a hand and slouched his shoulders. "Yo! I have a mission to report."

He normally never passed on an opportunity to flirt with a good looking female with considerable assets, but honestly he was feeling chakra drained and tense, and this new secretary is obviously a civilian. He briefly wondered what happened to the last one, a kunoichi with a medical leave for two years that somehow got roped into being the Hokage's doorman.

The new secretary with slightly foreign features nodded her head, locks of her black hair escaped the bun they were pulled in. Her eyes never left his, and she didn't tense or shift uncomfortably like other civilians when faced with a ninja with blood splattered clothing.

"Wait please, shinobi-san, the Hokage is currently in a meeting with an envoy from Suna." She responded in a calm voice, pointing to the bench a certain distance from her desk, and he knew that the Hokage was not available when he reached the tower, the foreign chakra in the office beside the Hokage's and the muted ones of the ANBU's - unnoticed by anyone who hadn't at one point served in the dark side of Konoha - steered him from barging from the window as usual.

He nodded his understanding and went to sprawl on the hard bench, he swears that whoever put them had the intention of making people as uncomfortable as possible.

The pretty secretary went back to shuffling through her papers, and promptly ignored his existence for the following twenty-nine minutes.

He spent his waiting on counting the blisters on the bench, the faded spots on the awfully painted wall, he named every ant crawling on the floor, and discreetly tried to gauge the size of the pretty secretary assets.

He must have failed in his last attempt, because she raised her bent head and sent a faintly annoyed look at him, to which he sheepishly eye smiled at, and to his faint surprise, she just shook her head and continued her work.

Being a civilian, he was expecting the usual screeches and endless amount of items thrown his way in lieu of preserving a needless modesty, after all, shinobi never had a sense of body shame, unless they are academy students or fresh Genins, but it looks like there's an exception for everything.

She took a look at the wall clock, and stood up from her chair, he noted that she walked gracefully, head held high in confidence without appearing arrogant, and opened the Hokage's door just in time for a Suna nin to appear, she nodded to the nin, and held the door open until he passed her and then she stuck her head to call in a calm, clear voice, "Hokage-sama, a mission report."

He heard the aged voice of the Sandaime allow his entry, and as he passed the civilian secretary his keen nose picked her unique smell of rainforest and lightning, beside the faint, pleasing perfume she wore.

He stood still to breathe in her warm scent that stirred something sleeping in him, made him lose sense of reality for a split second, before he closed the door and stood at attention in front of his leader.

"Report."

* * *

He forgot about the civilian secretary until he was reminded by Genma, who was in his usual haunts, the old shinobi bar beside the Jōnin Standby Station, he was nursing his cup of sake, whereas the other was blatantly staring at a well endowed kunoichi, who noticed his leering and gave him an amused look for his efforts, then turned to speak to him with his senbon pointing at the kunoichi, Kakashi was polite enough to not mention that the kunoichi was his preferred one-night stand, and tried to give the Jōnin the attention he demands.

"So, where were you the last month?"

Kakashi took a sip from his cup, and gave Genma an annoyed look at his badly hidden attempts of canceling the genjutsu he put on his face, he got a an innocent look back and sighed. "North."

He got a deadpan for his answer, and a hand shook the bottle threateningly at his direction. "T&amp;I would love to have you as a guest, you bastard, spill now."

He sighed again, and slouched back to avoid the sailing kunai near his face, he glared at the spiky haired kunoichi from next table, he got a rude gesture back. Genma tapped his fingers on the table to get his attention, and he drawled; "Kumo, there's nothing to spill that's not classified."

Genma relented and changed the subject, "Did you see the new secretary?"

He raised his eyebrow, and suddenly remembered the attractive civilian in the Hokage's tower. "Yes, a civilian?" He queried, the last civilian secretary for the Hokage was the Nidaime's, and lasted for about two years.

Genma, being the gossip lover he was, spilled information as quick as a green nin experiencing his first night in Morino Ibiki's abode. "Maki Haruna, the civilian counsel was getting antsy over brushed off during the last Kumo incident, the Hokage wanted to soothe some ruffled feathers, apparently she's the Maki clan head's niece, and is actually competent according to several shinobi, of course, no shinobi related business pass through her, but in the occasional shortage of help she's not bad for the job." A leer appeared on his face, momentarily forgetting about the captivating kunoichi near the bar. "She's also easy on the eyes. Not that Hana-chan was not, but she kept brandishing her kunai whenever she saw me."

A snort escaped Kakashi, of course she would do that, the Jōnin sitting before him was the one who got her landed with the job.

"Haruna, huh?" He distinctly remembers the vibrant, aloof eyes. "It fits her."

.

.

* * *

**AN:** Kakashi and femHarry, thats a first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fandom(s)**: Harry Potter/Katekyō Hitman Reborn!

* * *

_Outing in a Mafioso Dwelling_

* * *

**Britain, Lord Potter's Office, 2016 A.D**

"You have to be in Japan next week."

He lifted his head from the paper that solidified his opinion of his undersecretary incompetence, and gave the blonde wonder that barged into his office his best impression of exasperation.

"That's farther than India." He said dryly, while the witch waved her hands and practically jumped in excitement. "Yes, Harry! There's a lot of fun, you'll find the best _thing_ever!"

He sighed and moved the paperwork away to focus on her, she fluttered her _rainbow_ dyed eyelashes at him, and he felt a headache creeping in.

"And why, in the name of Merlin, does it have to be Japan?" He almost begged, but he was Lord of the noble House Potter and the ancient House Black, a Merlin First Class champion for three times, a winner of Witch Weekly's _Most Eligible Wizard_, and styled the Savior in whole Europe, proud owner of Best Dad enchanted cup by James Sirius and Albus Severus, with additional golden patterns made by Lily Luna (helped by her mother, but that's irrelevant) and he would rather break his Elder wand before he begged this loony witch before him for anything.

Luna _freaking_ Lovegood smiled prettily at him, and sighed dreamily,"Oh Harry! The things I have Seen!"

She suddenly invaded his personal space to dig her hands on his shoulders, and almost broke his nose with hers. "You will not delay it! It's a surprise and you _will not _spoil it!"

He swore under his breath, and he licked his dry lips _\- and almost hers by accident - _to say in a mild tone. "And how long does this.. _thing_, have to take? Al's birthday is next month and I am not skipping it."

While the last '_fun thing_' in India had been a millenniums aged Basilisk sleeping beneath the ancient city of Varanasi, and it took a trek through abandoned and haunted sites to find the mythical creature, it helped to break the record of the last sighted Basilisk that reached her two thousand years, but he won't let his son down by missing his birthday a second time.

Her eyes softened, and she patted his head and cooed assurances, "It won't take long, you'll be back in the right time."

Luna, sweet and lovely and loony Luna tenderly smiled at him, and trilled, "Go to Namimori, Harry." And he, the bleeding softie he refuses to believe he is, readily agreed.

* * *

He almost regretted his willingness to follow her whims when he was faced with Lily's watery eyes and profound pout, he turned a panic filled eyes to Ginny who was leaning on the door, but the traitorous witch merely rose an eyebrow and basically abandoned him to his doom.

"You were gone last month, Daddy!"

The quivering tone had him swooping down and squeezing the life out of his daughter, and murmured apologies in her ears, promising to get her whatever what she desires and he swears to Merlin that he won't be late.

"He's so whipped." The not so muffled words had him shooting dirty looks at Dean, and the latter smirked while Ginny nodded her head in agreement with twinkling eyes.

His little siren demanded his attention with a tug at his robes, and he quickly gave her his attentiveness. "I want a pretty ningyō, and a kimono and cute ribbons and..." So on until he was certain that he wouldn't remember what to bring her to save his life.

But he was not the man he thinks he is if he dared to miss a single _one_ piece of her demands.

His sons wanted 'simpler' things than their sister, James said he wanted a Japanese _Katana _to fight with rather than the traditional sword his fencing master gave him, and_sweet_ Al wanted the new version of a game called Final Fantasy.

He glimpsed a dark head shyly peeking from behind Ginny, and he beckoned Dean and Ginny's son, "And you, Arthur?" The six years old boy hesitantly whispered his wish, and Ginny amusedly repeated it to him. "Koi fishes."

He nodded seriously, and vowed to fulfill every holy errand given to him.

He pecked Ginny on her cheek, shook Dean's hand and waved his children's goodbye.

Off to this Merlin damned Naminori, or whatever what was its name.

* * *

**Timeline: One year after the Future Arc 'ten years later.'**

**AN: **I plan to make this HP/someone. Or maybe it will be gen. I dunno.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning**: SI-OC insert.

**Fandom**: Naruto.

* * *

_Dreamlike_

* * *

She refused to get involved in this world.

Ever since she woke up from an incident that should have resulted in an instant death, only to find that she's suddenly occupying the body and life of a teenage girl, surrounded by abnormalities and living in a fictional world that should not exist, she refused to interfere.

It's all fiction.

Dreams and delirious phantoms from long-gone days.

That's how she rose from her 'sick/death bed', and alarming the medics who were so sure of her demise, by firmly believing that it's all a trick of her dying mind.

Miracles do not happen in this dream world, even when some of them can walk on water and breath fire, apparently waking up after five years of being in a comatose state is a little too much for this mad world.

She had to go through several prodding and checkups before she was deemed fit enough to face this fictional reality, and it's strange how her dreams created an orphaned character for her, considering that she had a huge family back in her real world.

This poor girl's parents were lost along with half this village's residents in the horrible event that happened five years ago, a wicked beast took their lives with a sweep of one of its tails, a gigantic fox named Kyūbi.

But she wasn't the girl who lost them. She doesn't know Hayato and Keiko Mori – or is it Mori Hayato and Keiko? – and she isn't the one who lost five years of her life in a standstill situation.

Her name is Lily Millie Trance. She is not this delicate, petite young girl named Akemi who woke up to find herself suddenly alone. She is Lily Trance, a twenty-three years old woman, and she's currently dreaming of childhood fantasies.

Therefore there's no need to interfere in this world's complicated matters; interwoven military dictatorships and blatant violations of human rights and the usual age-old dirty politics thrown face first on the oblivious civilians.

But she had a flaw.

She couldn't leave a young, dirty and grim faced child standing before her little cakery in Konoha Tea Avenue and looking hungrily with weary, sapphire eyes at the colorful cakes on display.

So she swallowed her fear, not of this pitiful boy, but of the dangerous future laying clearly ahead on the slightest change in this one's life, but then again it's her dreams, she can do whatever what she wants, right?

She let out a slightly forced smile, and called to the boy still gazing at her Rainbow &amp; Glitters special features. "Hello there, would you like a cake?"

The boy startled, clearly not expecting to be acknowledged, and turned his far too dimmed eyes that tugged at her heartstrings, before hesitantly approaching her.

She kept her smile, less forced and gentler now, and bent her back to meet his eyes, ignoring the tightly clinched hands on his muddled shorts, she continued, "Which one would you like? The blue one? Or the pretty red one?"

He licked his chapped lips, before putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a green, toad shaped wallet. There were only three notes, and few coins that could buy him only two tiny cakes, and in a small voice he told her that he wanted the rainbow colored cake and the 'pretty red', and the orange flavored one.

She smiled - it was beginning to hurt her cheeks – and took the pitiful amount of money then pointed at the comfy small chair she put beside the door for her little customers, "Well then, you can sit there while I bring your order."

He obeyed, sitting on the edge of the chair and letting his legs dangle above the immaculate marble floor. It was weird seeing this -once, or is it will be? - bright boy so quiet and skittish, without his trademark orange jumpsuit and his overwhelming love for ramen, but she supposes that he still hadn't discovered his usual haunt yet.

_Only this time,_ she thought firmly, _and then I will wash my hands off this madness._

She filled the medium sized box with mini chocolate cookies, three special offer cakes and then she warped it in a blue ribbon, more of a habit than actual interest, she doubted that this boy knows anything about wrapping. She took the small plastic cup of pomegranate juice, one that she planned on drinking in her break, and approached him with a wide smile, "Here you go! The juice's on the house!" Almost the entire box is on the house, but he doesn't need to know that.

With trembling hands he slowly took the box and the cup, and she was _bothered _by the look he gave her, one of sheer gratitude and happiness that lit up his entire face.

She didn't deserve it.

But she waved him off and said the customary 'visit us again' even when she frantically prayed for him to never appear before her again.

* * *

**AN:** I don't know what happened.


	8. Chapter 8

****Warning(s): ****Semi-crack, Crossdressing, Kingsley humor.

**Fandom(s): **Harry Potter/Katekyō Hitman Reborn!

* * *

_Lady (not quite) In White_

* * *

It was Davies's fault.

And Kingsley's. But it was definitely Davies's fault too.

That sissy-looking prick strutted into his office a week ago, looking like he just walked out from a Witch Weekly photoshoot with his freshly pressed three-piece suit under his undoubtedly customized robes, with a pretty young bird clutching his arm like a lifeline.

"Potter!" He said in surprise, as if he had not just crossed the corridors from his department purposely to reach Harry bloody Potter's office in the opposite direction.

"My good man! Why are you still in this dour office?" Said indignantly the wizard with admittedly good genes - _he was thirty-eight for Merlin's sake, and still somehow manages to look like a seventh-year Hogwarts boy_ \- looking like Harry might have committed the worst crime imaginable.

"And where else would I be?" Harry humored him, putting down his quill and taking off his reading glasses.

Davies made several unnecessarily outlandish movements with his free hand. "At the Saline's! Today's the anniversary of its opening and everyone's invited for free drinks! Surely someone informed you, Head Auror!"

Now that he mentioned it, some green trainee had in fact told him something like that earlier this day, but he was strutting through his words too much for Harry to bear and he nodded his head just to get rid of him.

He sighed. "And who sent you? I'm pretty sure that they were significant enough to make an errand boy out of you."

The pretty witch clutching Davies's arm giggled. "Oh it was the Minister himself, Mr. Potter."

Damn Kingsley and his good-for-nothing undersecretaries.

And so he had rolled his sleeves back, with a snap rearranged the papers on his desk to the side, snatched his burgundy robe from the door's peg and begrudgingly followed Davies to the Floo network downstairs.

After all, one does not refuse an invitation from the Minister of Magic himself.

.

:

.

"Look who's there!" the old man behind the counter cried, "Mister Harry Potter himself!" And poured him a Dragon Barrel brandy.

Harry took the snifter gratefully, and saluted the elderly man with it. "What do you have there, you old codger? I didn't see those beauties last month," he pointed accusatorily at the fully stocked racks behind him.

Barmy Saline laughed heartily, and slapped his shoulder hard enough to shake his entire body. "Course you did not! I hid them from you, lest I have nothing to offer to my customers on my anniversary day."

He was about to scold the geezer when a toned body slid on the stool beside him, and Harry eyed the purple patterned robes with disgust. "Please don't make your house-elf choose your wardrobe, Kingsley, you're a disgrace to the Ministry."

Kingsley appeared to be slightly pissed, and Harry wondered how much drinks did he take for it to show on his wrinkly face, the old fart can hold his drink pretty well, and he was one of the few who could drink him under the table.

The Minister of Magic snorted. "Nobody's asking for your wardrobes opinions, Potter. Stick to hunting loonies or I'm transferring you to the textiles'."

Harry shut his mouth.

But really, it was hard not to tease him, just last year he was with the newest model of Witch Weekly, and now he was nursing his drink alone like a man with deep grudges.

"No eye-candy for our esteemed minister this year, eh?" He sneered. And really, it was Kingsley's fault for provoking him; the old fart – _not that he was too old, by wizard's standards he was in his prime, but Harry knows that it's still Kingsley's sore point _\- knows that he won't let anybody slam him down without firing back. And it's been a hectic month, as usual, full of incompetent newbies and resurfacing dark lords wannabes. "Looks like age finally caught up with you!"

And from there it went downhill.

Harry drank barrels of _free _wine; Kingsley surpassed him by gulping down Ogden's Firewhisky like there's no tomorrow.

Harry lost all of his sensibility; sly Kingsley sobered himself with a discreet spell and told him a sob story of having no date for the upcoming gala introducing the Wizarding world to a bunch of special muggles, and imagine the horror of having the Minister of Magic appear at such an important event with no plus-one.

Harry shed a few tears for poor old Shacky-shook, and solemnly swore an Unbreakable Vow to be Kingy-boo's plus one, witnessed by a silently crying bartender, though he later realized that it was not due to the emotional scene, but from extremely hysterical laughter.

So let it not be said that the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt is the epitome of sportsmanship in the Wizarding world.

May Merlin damn him to the deepest, darkest, and rankest bowels of hell.

.

.

.

* * *

**One week later**

"This isn't a good idea," Harry hesitantly pointed out to the mad woman standing behind him.

"Oh, it's not," Hermione agreed, still giggling madly while waving her wand in complicated gestures, the outcome being his floor length hair gaining sudden textures and volumes.

"I'm your friend of twenty-six years, I know your dirty laundries." He half-pleaded, half threatened, but she merely snorted at the pathetic - and fairly late - attempt.

"I'm sure you do, now—" she swished her wand downwards and his train of a hair thankfully shortened until his backside. "There you go. I must say Harry, you make a rather fetching witch."

"Shut up," he hissed, even if he was aware of how unnervingly true that was, the addition of female assets on his chest was not helping too.

"Don't worry too much about your reputation Harry, only select few know about the lady who's accompanying the Minister tonight, others will believe that you're a newly discovered heiress who generously contributed her family' manor to welcome the guests." Hermione said, trying to console him, and while that's good and all, those 'select few' are going to be a pain in the ass, just thinking of the blackmail materials those sods will have on him makes him shudder.

"Now don't forget, all vital preparations have to be done through hand or potions rather than spells, it wouldn't do to have your ass shrinking due to a stray _finite_, got it?" She said and took a step back to appraise him, then went and stuck her head from the door, "Pavarti, Susan, oh you too Lavender! It's your turn!"

He surpassed a shiver, he's the fucking Head Auror, and he won't cower because of a few barmy witches.

He almost Apparated to the next continent when they entered, Merlin damned bravado or not, the badly hidden glee on their faces made his insides twist, damn Kingsley and his closet fetish and damn him for being piss drunk last week in said person's presence. He won't let it go, oh no he will make him pay dearly, and the bugger will spend _years_ regretting tricking an intoxicated Head Auror through an Unbreakable Vow into attending a glamorous Ministry gala dressed as a bird, just you wait, Kingsley, oh just you wait.

The trio deposited their foul assortment of Beautifying potions on the near table, Brown damn well leered at him when she spread a collection of scandalously tight garments on the chair, and he stubbornly refused to glance at them even if his senses were practically screaming danger.

Patil, after making a face at his hands, quickly grabbed them and lathered his whole bloody arms with a _smoothing_ cream, it was obviously something out of _Dames et Lovelies_ merchandise, the ridiculously expensive shop in the magical downtown of Paris. There were some apprehensions a few years ago that they used a unicorn_ underskin_ of all things in their ingredients, but thankfully it was merely a rumor after a throughout investigation instated by the owner herself; Madame Aurélie to reassure the public that her merchandises were perfectly legitimate. Afterwards Patil speedily manicured his hands with her wand and applied an off-white nail polish.

Bones took over and after she forced him to swallow three beatification potions and one voice-altering potion, plucked his manly eyebrows, did something to his cheekbones because according to her they were 'too pronounced for a woman', began to _smear_ her undoubtedly pricey collection of makeup on his face, then finally deemed him ready for Brown's tender hands.

Harry internally recited Wafflings Fundamental Laws of magic, went over the huge pile of paperwork on his desk, firmly denied the existence of the present and repeatedly cursed the fifth generation of the Shacklebolts.

Brown finally drew back and smiled proudly, or she wanted it to be proud, the hideous scar on her face made it downright wicked. "There! I had some trouble with your nonexistent hips but everything turned out alright,"

Harry snuck a glance at the sniggering mirror in the corner, and instantly blanched.

His midriff was warped in an invisible corset that made his life suddenly harder; his newly transfigured boobs were almost spilling out from the snugly fitted piece, his nether regions invisible – intact, if the witch had dared to 'magic it away' he would've made sure that she eternally believes Dementors were far kinder than him - and his thighs slimmed down to an alarming degree.

He barely had the time to register the alterations, and then Brown was brandishing the _Kingsley approved_ attires in his face.

"Absolutely not," he stiffly said, not even sparing the skimpy outfit a glance. Brown fuckin' _pouted_, then sighed and banished the piece away. "This then? It goes well with your skin tone," the gown was admittedly beautiful, it was pale lilac floor-length, off-shoulders and with embroidered white flowers starting at the chemise then spiraling down in a waterfall motion, but it was too delicate for his tastes.

Later it went on like this:

"_No_."

"Woman, are you barking mad?"

"Mmm, it looks good, right Susan?"

"I don't think so, it will clash with the Minister's robes…"

"_Pffft_,"

"Oh my,"

"Not bad, but something's off,"

"What about a black one? With charmed constellations?"

"We were asked to be 'tame', Pavarati, not creative."

And so on until he was merely a mannequin for them, wearing this and choking in that for_ two_ whole hours.

_Enough is enough._

Harry whipped his wand hand at them, instantly halting the groping hands and leveled his Snape-worthy glare at them. "If you'd be so kind, ladies…" he left it at that, their wide eyes tracing his arm with disturbing reverence, but they thankfully quieted down.

They finally decided on a gown, and he supposed that it did not look too bad.

The gown was off-white, too tight on his suddenly voluptuous figure to allow a proper breather - _and underwear, but he's not going to mention that_ \- sleeveless and with tiny crystals painstakingly sewn on the gown's train, and with dangerously low-necked chemise. They charmed _twelve-centimeters _nude stilettoes to stick on his feet, because he sure as hell can't walk in them, draped him in fine jewels, out of the Minister's pockets, they assured him, and then stepped back to make him appraise the results.

"Bloody hell," he breathed.

That's one hell of a lady reflected before him, and he could not get quite nauseous when he realized that himself could turn him on.

_Fuck. _

.

.

.

* * *

"You look absolutely ravishing, Potter."

Harry pulled his blood-red lips back and bared his teeth. "Why, thank you, Minister. Sadly I cannot return the compliment."

Kingsley offered him his arm while wiggling his eyebrows; Harry took it and dug his sharp nails into the offending appendage, but the old coot merely grunted.

They walked slowly through the brightly lit corridor, the charmed chandeliers twinkling in their soft turns, and distant sounds of music can be heard through the long and lavishly carpeted corridor.

"I left the décor's preparations to the house-elves, Merlin knows that I might commit a terrible faux pas by placing things somewhere they shouldn't be in." Harry confessed airily to his companion.

"I'm aware of that," said Kingsley dryly. "That's why I made sure that _McKellar's Reverie_ oversee the dinner's menu."

"You sure seem to be wasting your salary these days, Kingsley."

Kingsley hummed but did not respond, and instead he changed the subject. "So, what did you find about our guests?"

Harry gave him a disbelieving stare. "Every single piece of information I found I stuffed in a thirty-five page report and delivered personally to your office, you ungrateful piece of shit."

"Ah, but I usually hand your reports to Ms. Anne to get the gist of them, they're terribly boring and dry."

Harry stopped and glared at the older man. "I was told that they're in fact prefect due to me 'analyzing facts and evidence that are relevant to the specific problem', and I provide structure material in a 'logical and coherent order.'"

"Exactly, dry." Kingsley deadpanned. "Now for the sake of satisfying my curiosity, tell me again about what you found."

Harry sighed, but readily complied. "Some of the information was easy to find, our connections to the Japanese and Italian networks are not too bad. I had a little problem with tracing some backgrounds, particularly one Renato Sinclair, who goes by the name of Reborn nowadays, but the Italian Ministro was more than happy to assist me when I mentioned the Calderk's incident…" Harry sheepishly trailed off at the incredulous look Kingsley gave him.

"What? I had no other choice!" He snapped in defense.

Kingsley still gave him 'are you kidding me' stare.

"And I wasn't in the mood to pursuit the Italian's intelligence, those pricks are hard to please." He admitted shamelessly.

"Right, so, because you are too damn lazy to do your damn job, you resorted to blackmail?!" Kingsley summed up disbelievingly.

Harry sniffed, but kept walking and dragged the frozen Minister with him. "Now, now, Minister. Let bygones be bygones and all that shite, what I need you to know is that we're not hosting normal muggles tonight."

Kingsley thankfully let it go. "I was told."

"Fantastic, now I wonder if they can actually be called muggles. They can, after all, do things normal muggles can't possibly do. They also have their own version of the Statute of Secrecy, but instead they call it an Omertà."

Harry trailed off as they stopped before giant doors, and the pleasant music can be clearly heard behind them. The well-dressed house-elves standing beside them bowed slightly and opened them with a snap of their fingers.

"Impressive." Kingsley praised as he gazed at the scene before him. "Your house-elves really outdid themselves."

The ballroom was quite large, with hardwood flooring and an enchanted ceiling, elegant seats were placed near the golden tinted walls and dozens of round tables were in orderly positions all around the ballroom, carrying a wide assortment of appetizers and fresh flowers artfully arranged in delicate china vases as centerpieces, and in the far corner, on a slightly raised stage, a group of smartly dressed musicians played a cheerful concerto.

"The drinks will be served by selected squibs, I wanted to employ Aurors at first, to minimize the risk if all went fubar, but then I realized that it might not attribute to our goodwill if our guests found out that their waiters are highly-trained, law-enforcing wizards."

Kingsley hummed in agreement, then asked. "And the squibs?"

"Prepaid, oath sworn and capable of holding their grounds."

"Excellent."

.

.

* * *

**AN: **Harry is 36, Tsuna 25, and the year's 2017. i made Kinsley's birthday in 1955 so he's 60 instead of the canon.

Was gonna add a Reborn's POV but my muse died, so if anybody wants to take this and complete it please do because i obviously can't ..


	9. Chapter 9

**Fandom(s): **Harry Potter/Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

**AN:** .. ugh. muse. ugh. life.

* * *

**The Bloody Potter**

* * *

The thing is that Harry was not even surprised anymore.

You see, ever since he somehow managed to accidentally fly from Dudley and his goons back when he was a scrawny little kid, woke up one day to find his recently shaved hair unshaved once more, somehow managed to turn a sorry excuse for a teacher's wig vivid blue, not to mention the fact that he successfully communicated with an honest to Merlin _snake_ and thought it normal, then after the clusterfuck that was the Wizarding world, nothing really fazed Harry bloody Potter anymore.

Or so he thought.

Until he managed to get miraculously piss drunk, stumbled on a glitch and got dropped on a bunch of trigger-happy muggles with sharp wan-_err_ guns.

It was safe to say that he didn't take it well.

In fact, later, when the blind rage that swept through him lifted and he managed to piece together several coherent thoughts other than _not again fuck die kill rip disappear killkillkill who the fuck is that, _he realized that he massacred the poor sods who happened to cross his way, sat on their mountain of broken and moaning bodies and was mildly irritated at losing his Ogden to an unworthy muggle's face.

Yeah, not his finest moment, that one.

He realized that something was wrong, and he wasn't anywhere near Britain or any magical civilization when he flared his magical signature in the standard pattern of '_I fucked shit up come save my ass' _signal_, _waited a whole hour for a squad of Obliviators to appear, and none came.

And that's something that never happened.

Even if the Ministry of Magic fell, its minister went batshit insane and its Law Enforcement departments shut down, there's this common thing that every single wizard and witch know: don't touch the Obliviators.

Obliviators were always left alone to do their shi-_err _jobs.

Everyone knows, excluding Voldemort of course, because he was nuts.

But that's not important.

Thing is, by doing the do to these muggles - _who he found out much later were mafia underdogs to some mafia don, can you believe that shit_ \- and no one to cover up his messy and completely embarrassing lack of control, he somehow got to be the undesirable number one once again.

Well, they gave him a completely different name, but the gist of it is the same.

_The Bloody Potter. _

At least he liked it much better than the other one.

Back to the point, he has to get back to his world, or get to see Undersecretary Granger raise nine hells searching for his hide, and that's something he definitely doesn't want to happen anytime soon.

.

.

* * *

[ "_This is a Greco __Famiglia __territory, identify yourself!" _

_"...the hell's a Greco? You got no eyes dumbass? I'm Potter." Said the intruder with a slight accent and tapped on his scarred forehead as if it should mean something. _

_"That name is not familiar, state the purpose of your intrusion." Barked one man, his hand steadily pointing at the intruder with a Flame enhanced handgun. ]_

"The Grecos train their members well," the External Advisor to the Vongola Famiglia, Sawada Iemitsu stated admirably, but his companion snorted.

"Sure, that restraint paid off in an extended visit to the intensive care unit."

They turned their attention on the wide screen at the sound of gunshot and glass breaking, and found the unidentified man blinking incoherently at the shattered pieces of his tumbler.

_[ "..You sure are unfunny, huh." He swayed a little and gazed morosely at a half empty bottle of what appears to be whiskey._

_"Surrender or face the consequences," warned the Squad Leader, and those were his final words. ]_

What happened after was repeatedly analyzed by several members of the CEDEF, thoroughly inspected by many Families and watched over and over again by Iemitsu because the amount of actions and techniques used in the restricted time of eight-two seconds recorded on several databases should have been impossible for someone who did not possess any Flames at all.

After the brief and humiliating, can it even be called battle; the so-called Potter swayed up from his seat of twitching Greco members and squinted at the small camera positioned on one's necktie, he mumbled a bunch of gibberish words then snatched the camera up to his face, his untamed dark locks and days-old stubble now in clear display, his bleary, starling green eyes blinked incomprehensibly at the item in his hand, before snorting and closing his hand around it, presumably squashing it, as the feed got cut off right after.

"So, what does the Vongola know about this new anomaly?"

"Well, his appearance is that of a Caucasian, a bit on the short side, doesn't possess any known Flames, by the accent and name he gave earlier, if it was not a fake one and not merely a title, then he likely hails from the United Kingdoms. British, most likely."

"And?"

"That's it.."

Iemitsu turned to look at the smartly dressed man in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that _five _collaborative intelligence resulted in cold trails?"

Turmeric nodded with barely concealed frustration. "That's right, moreover the Greco Famiglia had hired efficient trackers who could not find any trace of him at all. If there was no taped evidence of his existence, I'd say that we were chasing a ghost."

"Huh," the Young Lion of the Vongola laid back on his chair, threaded his fingers together and narrowed his eyes at the blank screen in front of him.

The Bloody Potter, someone that dared to call for the mafia's attention, yet still remain unrevealed.

But no more, concluded Iemitsu, because the Vongola Nono decided that it was nigh time he answered for the slight he may have unwittingly committed by attacking one of their vessel Famiglias.

And thus, the hunt for the Potter began.

.

* * *

**AN:** Meh. Be warned that i know absolute shit 'bout KHR other than general things so i might be laying it on a bit thick bout somethings.


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning(s): **SI/OC-insert, disturbing themes, page breaks.

**Fandom: **Naruto.

* * *

**steady, steady**

(don't blink, don't panic)

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**末尾**

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* * *

Owari was born on a harsh winter night.

She blinked at the perplexed midwife, eyes eerily aware, before they were shut.

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* * *

_"Milady, the child is unnatural." _

_"Milady, the Lord will not be pleased."_

_"Perhaps, before it's too late.. it's better to—"_

* * *

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Four years later, the bearer of Owari threw herself from the tallest watchtower.

Owari was seen blankly gazing at the still portrait of her lady mother in her funeral, in contrast to her sobbing brother.

The Lord gave her an uninterested glance, when she asked for the farthest room accessible, but granted her that.

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Owari was barely seen for the next seven years.

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* * *

_Madness creeps,_

_Akin to an inquisitive child,_

_Cocking its head thoughtfully;_

_"Is it boring?" _

_The girl stares at it,_

_"Yes, very much so."_

* * *

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_Seiwa no Owari_, she carefully penned the name, under the cool gaze of the old woman.

"Excellent," she nodded briskly. "Now, write the names of the previous Heads of the clan, in chronological order, since the appointment of Lord Genji the Sixth."

Owari gently dipped the brush in the ink, before complying.

There was no birdsong.

Nature was hushed.

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* * *

_"I am your older brother, Ōe."_

_"I know."_

_He stares at her stiffly; back rigid and lips tightly pursed. _

_"From today onwards, I shall be your guardian." _

_"What of Lord Father?"_

_Something flashes in his brown-red-mud eyes at her callous inquiry. _

_"His Lordship passed to the Pure World."_

_"Ah.."_

_She was required to attend his extravagant funeral. She did so, since it was the price for her undisturbed freedom. _

* * *

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It's relatively small tells, that sets her apart.

The tilt of her head, in the overcrowded chambers, as if heeding concealed banters.

The disoriented gaze, as if she was following invisible patterns woven upon the material world.

Her apparent disregard for customs, with no retributions allocated.

But perhaps, what makes them truly apprehensive is her boundless knowledge - her unemployed and unexploited knowledge of things she should not know.

.

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* * *

_"This is Shiba Koma, he shall be your personal guard from now on."_

_The veiled assassin bows his head, sharp eyes never straying from her form. _

_He is the fifth one so far, she wonders if he will succeed. _

_Brother Ōe must be really desperate, if he resorted to the service of ninja. _

_She feels her lips twitching in a mockery of a smile. _

_"Please guard me well, Shiba-san."_

* * *

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_"To see a World in a Grain of Sand _

_And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, _

_Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand_

_And Eternity in an hour."_

In this world, it is recited in reverence; nobles require it essential to learn for their haughty gets, scholars pen it in their books, poets constantly applaud her 'masterpiece', Lords from distant lands request her attendance in their celebrations, wishing for a close performance.

She does not think a dead man from a bygone world would terribly mind the blatant theft.

Lord General Mifune titles her the Yūdaina Shijin.

.

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* * *

_"The Fire Daimyo sent an invitation," _

_"For whatever reason?"_

_Her brother got better at concealing his emotions; her pours a cup of sencha for her. The usual __delicate sweetness, mild astringency and flowery-green aroma of the tea were noticeably absent._

_"The appointment of a new Hokage. He wishes for the Poetess of Iron to grace their event." _

_She found the familiar bittersweet blend of a Deadly Nightshade instead. _

_She sips the 'tea' elegantly. "How marvelous. I shall attend, of course. One cannot afford to refuse a Daimyo."_

_He nods apathetically. "I will send your reception posthaste." _

_Shiba Koma stood unmoving in front of the door; eyes averted. _

_He managed to persist for two years. _

_She thinks she will reward him._

* * *

_._

Fire burns. It scorches, consumes, sizzles, hisses and is always, always hungry for more.

Fire engulfs her chambers; a breathtaking scenery of oranges and twirling reds. The figures dancing, breaking and rejoining within, shapeless hands reaching to embrace all.

A phoenix unfolding its majestic wings, readying for a long flight.

It makes her eyes mist – an otherworldly beauty often overlooked.

She inhales smoke. All her windows are barred from outside.

She believes that this is the last time. She begrudgingly admits that she never thought of it before – burned to death, being incinerated into charred remains… she assumed he was far too cautious for such obvious methods.

Clearly he is fraught, a last resort to end her existence, before the world truly noticed her... and noticed her disappearance.

She supposes that it's his win, this time.

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Fire recoiled.

Fire did not burn her.

Fire refused her.

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* * *

_His face was priceless._

_It was bleached of color –_

_He lost his grip on the teacup._

_It shattered. _

* * *

_._

The Yondaime Hokage smiles brightly at her, a sincere smile.

It's been a while since she was graced with one.

"Would you regale us with a poem of your choosing, Seiwa-dono?"

So polite. So naïve.

Shinobi are supposed to be unnoticeable, unremarkable, and overly discreet. They are not supposed to burn brightly as this boy.

Owari knows that his fire will be distinguished soon.

She saw one of his companions discreetly stifle a yawn.

"It would be my pleasure, Hokage-dono."

It would be her pleasure indeed, to fluster this self-assured boy.

She sweetly smiles, and parts her lips to croon a favorite sonnet of hers – she supposes it belongs to her now, in this cruel world - while her half-lidded eyes trace the red creeping on his fair face.

_"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? _

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate__..."_

She finishes with a deliberate glance at the stunned man behind the newly made Yondaime Hokage, before he instantly sports a wickedly gleeful mien.

The poor Hokage stammers, attempts to speak but falters. He finally coughs and clears his throat. "Ah.. th-thank you, Seiwa-dono."

Then with an astounding speed worthy of his moniker, he strategically withdraws and hightails it out of the chamber.

"_Thank you, indeed_. Lady." Says the supposed comrade of the Yondaime with relish. "Never seen Yellow Flash's face light up like that." And he too gets up to presumably follow his Hokage.

She knows that later this sonnet will be presumed to have been expressly sung for Namikaze Minato.

She is not particularly upset about it.

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* * *

_Madness creeps,_

_Beneath the warm shades of the brilliant sun,_

_It inquires:_

_'Is it boring?'_

_The girl shrugs,_

_'Not anymore.'_

_._

* * *

**Author's Note: **something to help me get over my writer's block.. not sure if it worked..


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